


Glimmer of Hope

by KariTBB



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-16
Updated: 2020-08-16
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:13:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25932679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KariTBB/pseuds/KariTBB
Summary: Honoroit’s story during the days after the peace conference. Also featuring Emmanellain and - quite unplanned - Alphinaud.
Relationships: Honoroit Banlardois & Emmanellain de Fortemps
Comments: 7
Kudos: 12





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I never thought I could come to like that pompous douchebag Emmanellain, but the peace conference changed everything.
> 
> Hope you enjoy!
> 
> Love,  
> Kari

He woke to a familiar smell and the sensation of motion.

Honoroit blinked, trying to pry his eyes open, but the attempt remained in vain. His eyelids were heavy...

A shallow, ragged breath tore from his throat.

_ So heavy… _

He drifted back into the colourless void that was neither dream nor unconsciousness, a twilight state of mind on the edge of being awake. Too weary to fight, he surrendered to the darkness and focused on his other senses instead. The icy touch of the north wind brushed against his cheeks and the smell he had noticed earlier still lingered in the air around him. He found he recognised that smell from somewhere, but he couldn’t remember where. It was an agreeable scent though - one of luxurious soap and sweet pastry along with a hint of shaving lather.

Honoroit relished the smell, but another sensory perception broke through the clouds in his mind and claimed his attention. There was... something rugged next to him. Something hard and markedly cold. It kept shifting about, lightly grazing Honoroit’s skin in the process. He reflected on the peculiar circumstance, but failed to figure out what it could possibly mean.

Irked, he tried to push the uncomfortable, hard something away, but the moment he moved, a searing pain shot through his shoulder and thence spiraled into every fiber of his body. He heard a panic whimper, but it wasn’t until someone called out his name in response that he realised it had been him who had cried out in pain.

He blinked away the tears pooling in his eyes and took care to hold perfectly still while he fought back the threat of a faint. The rhythmic motions that had accompanied him ever since he had come to picked up pace. It was then that he grasped that he was being carried and that the rugged something was a coat of mail worn by the person holding him.

The realisation was followed by a crushing sense of guilt. He knew now what that smell was and consequently knew who was carrying him:  _ Lord Emmanellain! _

Frantic, Honoroit struggled to get up, but another wave of pain hit him so hard that he limply sank back into the man’s arms. Tears filled his eyes anew and this time, he let them run freely. Emmanellain was carrying him…  _ That mustn’t be!  _ Honoroit was but a mere footboy and Lord Emmanellain was an Ishgardian nobleman, this was unacceptable! What was Emmanellain thinking? He was already being shunned and sneered at by Ishgard’s peerage as it was, such unseemly behaviour would only add to his reputation as a dimwitted misfit!

Honoroit wanted to urge his master to let him down, wanted to entreat him to leave him to his own devices, but he couldn’t muster up the strength. The memory of why Emmanellain had to be doing this in the first place slowly crept back into his mind. The peace conference, the maidservant who had incited the people to turn against the dragons and to revolt against the peace treaty, Emmanellain’s firing order, the… Honoroit swallowed hard.  _ … the mob who had beat him up. _

An involuntary, frightened cry broke from Honoroit’s lips.  _ They had wanted to strike him dead! They wanted to end his life, and he would never see the light of morning again! He would... _

“... just you wait, a day or two at most.” He ceased his sobbing, startled, when he grew aware of the soft voice mumbling into his ear. “And then you’ll be running around the patio again, and Father will scold you for being much too spirited and nearly knocking over his precious ornamental amphoras. Remember how he used to tweak your ears for that when you were little? And yet whenever there was a snowfall, you forgot about all his warnings and rushed right outside. You just loved scooting and skidding through the fresh snow so much.”

Honoroit wanted to smile at that, but he was too afraid it may hurt. He wished he could tell Emmanellain that in reality, he had never cared about the snow itself. His family had been destitute and he had spent more hours trudging barefooted through the snow-covered, bitterly cold streets of the lower city than he was willing to let naive Emmanellain know. His first time slithering straight across the Fortemps’ patio had been an honest accident. Yet, before Honoroit had had time to right himself, Emmanellain had burst into laughter and had begun teasing him about his childish game. Flushing to the tips of his ears, Honoroit had sputtered apologies, but Emmanellain had swiftly silenced him.

_ “Ah, don’t apologise.” Emmanellain squeezed his shoulder, the gaze of his bright blue eyes mischievous yet warm and lenient. “You’re but a child. You are free to act your age every now and then, aren’t you? Go on, have some fun! Now, don’t look at me like that, go play! Shoo!” _

Honoroit had been sceptical, but he hadn’t dared to resist his new master’s order. Awkwardly, he had started running about in the snow. It had been mortifying and ridiculous and it had been absolutely amazing! For the first time in his life, Honoroit had been allowed to _ play _ ... 

Honoroit turned his face into Emmanellain’s chest, ignoring the roughness of the mail coat, ignoring the protest of his aching body.

It had soon become a habit for him to romp about in the snow. And whenever he had returned inside, clothes soaked and cheeks aglow, the Fortemps had treated him with particular kindness. Emmanellain would order a cup of tea being prepared for him and Count Edmont would have him put into a hot bath while Artoirel arranged for a fresh set of clothes and a blanket to await him thereafter. Of course, both Antoirel and Count Edmont would also admonish him for staying outside in the cold for such a prolonged period of time, but he had always found their care being worth the reprimand.

Emmanellain in contrast had never scolded him for his heedlessness, but he had always given Honoroit only light duties for the remainder of the day. Oftentimes, he had simply spent the evening teaching Honoroit astrology or reading poetry to him or telling him iridescent (and as Honoroit suspected not necessarily true) stories about the vast world lying beyond Ishgard’s city walls. Honoroit loved those evenings deeply.

“Heaven knows why you would enjoy running around in the snow in the first place! You were all but frozen whenever you finally came back inside. One night, you had been out for so long that your lips had turned blue. You nearly frightened the life out of Father! But you’ve always been a peculiar little fellow, haven’t you?” Emmanellain continued blithely. “That’s why I took you under my wings in the first place, did you know that at all? An oddball like you would have never made it out there. Thank the Twelve I was there and took pity on you!”

The sprightly chatter suddenly paused and Honoroit thought he could hear a faint hiccup, but it may have been just his imagination.

“You know, Father commonly shows exceptional generosity to the sick and ailing. Do you remember that truffle cream cake we had at Lord Chanellain’s party last year?”

Oh, yes! Honoroit wished he had the strength to nod. He definitely remembered that! Emmanellain had been invited - or rather, had invited himself - to the feast Lord Chanellain had held in honour of his daughter’s betrothal. During the grand dinner, Honoroit had duly stayed in the back along with the other servants. Neither of them had been allowed to touch any of the extravagant dishes their masters had been offered of course but had been given plain bread and cheese instead. When the dessert had been served, however, Emmanellain had suddenly cried out in delight and had called Honoroit over.

“Honoroit! This cake is absolutely divine!” he had exclaimed zealously. “Come here, my boy, you  _ ought _ to try this for yourself!”

Honoroit’s face had been flaming with embarrassment, but refusing his master, in public at that, had been unthinkable. Not only would it have been scandalous, it would have made Emmanellain look like a fool - more so even than complying with his preposterous request. And Halone knew, Emmanellain was perfectly capable of making a fool out of himself - he certainly did not need Honoroit’s assistance in that!

As impossible as Emmanellain’s prompt had been, his effusive praise had indeed been warranted. Oh, what a treat this cake had been! What a  _ delicacy _ ! The sheer remembrance of the flavour on his tongue still watered Honoroit’s mouth. Emmanellain and he had kept talking about the exquisite pastry for days after - it had truly been the most delectable cake they had ever had the pleasure of tasting.

“A while ago, I learned you can order these at Morineau’s - you remember, the little confectionery down by Saint Reinette’s Forum? Unfortunately, despite my continued pleas, Father refuses to buy one for us because he deems them ridiculously overpriced. But if you ask him nicely, I think you could just persuade him. He’ll likely give in for the sake of your recovery. What do you think, my boy, hm? Does that sound like a good idea?”

That sounded like a wonderful idea in fact! Honoroit could picture it, Emmanellain and him sitting on the divan in Emmanellain’s antechamber, noshing cake and laughing and sharing stories. The picture faded and Emmanellain’s voice trailed off into the distance, clouds of darkness once more closing in on Honoroit. A stab of fear cut through him, but then he decided it was fine. He’d sleep, just a little. And when he woke up, he’d ask Count Edmont for that truffle cream cake. Poor Emmanellain… He was so shaken by that horrible ordeal with the rebel woman, Honoroit needed to provide comfort for him. Yes… Surely a piece of that cake would lighten Emmanellain’s mood.


	2. Chapter 2

_ “Easy there, my friend! Easy...” _

A hand settled on Honoroit’s chest and gently pinned him down. Honoroit’s eyes fluttered open, but instantly closed again when an agonizing flash of brightness hit them.

“Honoroit?” The unknown voice, definitely not Emmanellain’s, was oddly blurry, but sounded well-disposed. “ _ Shhh _ , everything is going to be fine, but I need you to be a good boy and stay still, hm?”

The stranger’s hand retreated to reappear in his neck, rearranging the pillow Honoroit was propped up against.

Ignoring the glaring light, Honoroit forced his eyes open. The meek face leaning over him was familiar and lined with concern. The latter would have given Honoroit reason for alarm, but this particular face always seemed to display an air of worry: Master Alphinaud.

Bemused, Honoroit tried to roll onto his side and get his arm under him, but Master Alphinaud immediately pushed him back into the linen. Honoroit would have protested, but there was no denying that the resolute intervention had likely been for the best: Upon moving, Honoroit had gasped with pain and his head had begun swimming.

“Stay still!” Master Alphinaud ordered, sternly this time. That was unusual enough that Honoroit instinctively obeyed. Master Alphinaud normally was a very even-tempered person...

Timidly, Honoroit blinked up at the young Sharlayan, but the outburst had passed as quickly as it had come.

“Be careful, you need to pace yourself.” Master Alphinaud looked him over and hesitated for a fraction of a moment, then he laid a hand upon Honoroit’s forehead. The corner of his mouth twitched. “Your fever’s gone - at last - but you still need to rest.”

He tilted his head and examined Honoroit, apparently wavering.

“Do you remember what happened?” he asked quietly. Honoroit nodded. The movement brought back the pain, but it had subsided to a bearable level at least. Images of the events at the conference appeared in his mind’s eye. Fists sweeping towards him. Blood splattering his coat, his boots, the snow below him. Faces contorted with rage, mere grimaces bereft of any humanity. He shuddered and hastily scanned the room around him in search of anything else to occupy his thoughts with. As his gaze flitted across the walls and furnishings, he paused though, startled. Something... wasn’t right. This wasn’t his room...  _ This was Emmanellain’s! _

“Emmanellain?” he forced out. His voice came out croaky and his throat was uncomfortably dry.

Master Alphinaud shook his head.

“He’s...  _ out. _ Don’t fret, he’s well,” he explained, misinterpreting Honoroit’s question. Honoroit lifted his hand and gestured weakly about the spacious room.

“Emmanellain,” he repeated. “Why... in his bed? This…” He took a deep breath that burned in his lungs. “... is not proper.”

Master Alphinaud’s face was marked by genuine surprise.

“This is Emmanellain’s room?” he echoed, a note of disbelief within his voice. “I hadn’t known.”

Honoroit nodded anew and pointed to the narrow door to his left.

“That one… mine.”

Master Alphinaud frowned.

“Yours and Emmanellain’s rooms are adjacent, connected even? Well, that is unusual. In any case, you already were in this very nice bed when I arrived here a few days ago. I haven’t seen Emmanellain since, though I do know he returned to Ishgard with you - I assume he’s staying someplace else.”

Honoroit closed his eyes, a sorrowful sigh leaving his lips. Of course - because Emmanellain was avoiding his father because of the terrible happenings at Falcon’s Nest. Poor Emmanellain! He hadn’t meant for that woman to be hurt, Honoroit didn’t have a shred of doubt about that. Emmanellain had tried to resolve the situation according to his best judgement. Unfortunately, Emmanellain’s judgement lacked… prudence.

He was stirred out of his thoughts by a hand on his shoulder and found Master Alphinaud sympathetically gazing down at him.

“Don’t worry, things will sort themselves out, eventually. Just… give him and Count Edmont some time. Can you do that?”

Honoroit nodded earnestly, if unhappily. He loathed the prospect of idly standing by while father and son grew further apart, but he felt much too miserable to rise from bed, much less take action to help them reconcile.

“He is a much kinder soul than one would suspect at first glance...”

Honoroit turned to face Master Alphinaud anew. The Scion had taken a seat in a nearby chair, resting his forearms gracelessly on his knees. A ghost of a smile hovered on his lips.

“Did you know he carried you to the chirurgeons personally? And I’ve been told he never left your side while you were being transported back here. Gave up his quarters to you at that it seems.” He chuckled and slowly shook his head. “And here I was initially afraid he may mistreat you. I must admit I always thought him to be… quite shallow-brained.”

Honoroit mirrored the smile despite the pain that arose from the act.

“Do not doubt your knowledge of humanoid nature,” he consoled Master Alphinaud. “Lord Emmanellain is as couth and considerate as he is humble. But…” His expression softened and he stared, unseeing, at his pale hands. “... lack of mental maturity does not exclude kindness.”

He spent the following hours conversing with Master Alphinaud. The sophisticated, eloquent Elezen diverted him with colourful tales of his many adventures, gave him strengthening tea and forced him to eat bread soaked in milk -  _ yuck!  _ Count Edmont came by to check on him late in the afternoon, visibly relieved to find him awake and mending.

When Master Alphinaud was called to dinner, Honoroit stayed back in the overwhelming grandeur of Emmanellain’s room alone.

He rested his head back against the pillow and heaved an exhausted sigh. He was grateful that Master Alphinaud had so patiently kept him company, but he felt indescribably tired... Still, despite the lengthening shadows climbing up the walls, he couldn’t find the peace of mind to fall asleep.

He let his gaze wander about the dim room until it came across the small door leading to his own. It used to serve as a nursery and subsequently as a lumber-room, but Emmanellain had claimed it for Honoroit just a few days after he had come to live with the Fortemps.

A small smile stole across Honoroit’s face. During his first night in the mansion, he hadn’t gotten a single wink of sleep. He had been used to spending the night penned up with a dozen other people, a ruthless wind howling around the rickety barracks, the nocturnal quiet frequently interrupted by coughs and sneezes and, sometimes, the sound of someone weeping. Starlight would trickle through the countless cracks and gaps of the roof, driving away the dark even at the dead of night.

Here in the mansion though, everything had been large and empty and silent. Honoroit had shared his quarters with three other servants so he had not been entirely by himself, but neither of them had coughed nor sneezed nor wept, and they had kept the thick shutters closed so tightly that no trace of light had ever issued through them. Merely in his eleventh winter, Honoroit had lain awake for hours upon hours, gaping at the shadows that seemed to swallow him up, searching the endless quiet for a familiar sound.

The following nights had barely brought improvement. Emmanellain, usually not the most observant person, had quickly caught up on his tiredness and had confronted him about it. Or rather, he had wailed and complained about Honoroit being ‘inattentive’ and ‘slow’ and ‘Did you just pour tea into the cream jug!?’. Understandably, he had demanded explanations, and Honoroit, afraid of being sent away, had entrusted him with the truth, hoping that honesty would earn him permission to stay. Unable to offer any form of compensation for his failings, he had made frantic vows to do better henceforth, but Emmanellain had merely commented that he would ‘attend to the matter’. Honoroit had been convinced then that his days in the Fortemps household had already come to an end. But then, two days later, Count Edmont had taken him aside.

_ “Honoroit, a word, please?” The old count guided Honoroit into his office and carefully shut the door behind them. Once they were in private, he leaned back against the wood and briefly closed his eyes before he spoke again. “I do not know how to couch this delicately, but... I am afraid Emmanellain insists that you switch rooms.” _

_ Count Edmont looked upset, or maybe embarrassed. Honoroit raised his eyebrows in bewilderment. _

_ “Switch rooms, my lord? I do not understand?” _

_ Count Edmont drew a resigned sigh. _

_ “He wants you closer to him in case he needs you at night. Apparently, he wished for a glass of water late last night and was displeased to discover that you were in a different wing of the house, out of reach for him.” Lord Edmont scoffed. “I tried to talk him out of it - he’s being ridiculous! - but he claimed that as his personal manservant, it was your duty to be available to him at all hours. I’d fervidly argue that without hesitation, but he has gone behind my back and has already arranged for all of his belongings to be transferred to another room.” _

_ This statement only increased Honoroit’s confusion. _

_ “Another room?” he parroted. That didn’t make any sense... If Emmanellain wanted him closer, then why would he himself move to a different room rather than just assign a new one to Honoroit? _

_ Count Edmont nodded, contrite. _

_ “Yes, his new quarters of choice have a tiny room adjacent to them. It was originally built as a nursery and is thus directly connected to the main room. This way, he can easily call for you even in the middle of the night.” Count Edmont gave a snort of guilt and frustration. “I’m sorry, my boy, but… Pray deal with that, only for a couple of weeks? Emmanellain… I know he is difficult, but he’s still my son. Most of the staff doesn’t show him as much respect as they show Artoirel or me. Oh, no, don’t look so scandalised - they always obey his orders and they never do anything irreverent. But I can see it in the way they look at him, in the way they treat him just like you would treat a child throwing a tantrum. If… if I openly contradict his orders and force the servants to return his things to his former room, they’d lose respect for him even further.” _

_ He studied Honoroit, his expression grave. _

_“I know it’s a great inconvenience, but I’d like to let some time pass before we ‘reach the conclusion’ that the former_ _constellation is preferable.”_

_ Honoroit nodded at once. He wasn’t sure what to make of this, but he was very sure he didn’t want to object to any order his new masters gave him. Here at the Fortemps, he received much more food and much less harsh words than at his previous position. And Emmanellain, carefree and simple-minded as he was, had kept his promise so far to provide Honoroit with an education. _

_ “It’ll be my pleasure, my lord,” Honoroit asserted. “I do not mind at all.” _

_ He almost added, “I cannot sleep, anyway”, but decided it was wiser to keep this piece of information to himself. _

_ In the evening, Honoroit kept anxiously hovering near Emmanellain. He wanted to stay up until the nobleman had gone to bed at the very least. The less time he spent alone, tossing and turning to no avail, the better... _

_ To his dismay, Emmanellain marvellously scotched his plans by sending him off just after dinner - several bells earlier than Honoroit had intended. _

_ At the lordling’s order, Honoroit blanched. _

_ “But my lord, it is my duty to be at your service!” He forced a laugh and took a light bow. “Certainly I can not retire before you. You may still require my assistance.” _

_ Uncommonly serious, Emmanellain shook his head. _

_ “You’re a child, and overtired at that,” he declared. Honoroit wanted to disagree, but it didn’t help his cause that he had to stifle a yawn that very moment. “Look at you, you’re almost falling asleep standing up! There’s no discussing this, you’re going to bed this instant!” _

_ Emmanellain underlined his order with a firm gesture towards the nursery. Honoroit followed obediently of course, but unhappily. A queasy feeling settled in the pit of his stomach as he changed into his nightshirt and crept under the covers. The thought of going to bed so early was disheartening - it meant he’d be lying awake in the dark even longer, staring into the blackness and listening to the ghostly silence. _

_ He glanced at the window behind him. Since he was the only occupant of the nursery, he could at least leave the shutters open. And as the room was so small, the faint moonlight was sufficient to reach all corners, leaving behind far less shadows to be afraid of. _

_ He turned his head when the door separating his and Emmanellain’s room was cracked open. Emmanellain’s face appeared, looking eerie in the flickering light of the candle he carried. _

_ “I will leave this door ajar,” he informed Honoroit, “so I can be sure you’ll hear me if I call for you. Understood?” _

_ Honoroit merely nodded. _

_ Emmanellain retreated without further ado and Honoroit was once more left alone. Somehow though, everything appeared considerably less scary than during the former nights. A shimmer of light fell through the half-closed door, and he could hear Emmanellain bustling about in the other room. The scratch of a quill on paper, the rustling of clothes, an occasional muttered curse. It was incredibly soothing. _

_ Honoroit fell asleep without even realising. He woke up again in the deep of the night, disturbed by a nightmare he couldn’t grasp. The light in Emmanellain’s room had long gone out then and panic rose up inside Honoroit, but just when he was about to flee his bed and wander through the dormant house to distract himself, a jagged, ugly noise reached his ears. Honoroit scowled and cautiously sat up. It took him a moment to figure out what the soft rattle was, but when he did, his lips parted in a wry grin. Emmanellain snored. Heavily. _

_ Focusing his attention on the monotone, pacifying sound, Honoroit nestled down into his feather bed and went back to sleep. _

  
  


“Hey there, my friend.” Master Alphinaud peeked in his head and slipped into the room. “Count Edmont and I need to talk some things over, but I wanted to look in on you again first. Are you comfortable? Do you need anything?”

Honoroit shook his head.

  
“I’m fine. Thank you, Master Alphinaud,” he promised. He thought about adding something more reassuring, but his mind was still muddled, and talking required  _ so _ much strength.

Clearly sceptical, Master Alphinaud curled his lips and took a few steps closer.

“How’s the pain?” he inquired. Honoroit averted his eyes, unable to keep up the pretense at the question.

“It is… tolerable.”

His answer was evasive, but perfectly diplomatic. Close enough to the truth for it not to be a lie, but too ambiguous to betray how sore and wretched he truly felt. Still, Master Alphinaud furrowed his brows in a manner that was far too suspicious for Honoroit’s liking. Keen on convincing him that he was in good shape, he worked himself into a sitting position.

“I sincerely am fine, my lord. Pray do not worry about me.“

Master Alphinaud blissfully ignored this and verified himself whether Honoroit was well by suddenly poking and prodding him all over. His examination was thorough and anything but gentle, if not to say ruthless, and Honoroit secretly thanked the Twelve when it was finally over. Master Alphinaud however seemed satisfied with his verdict. He brought Honoroit another blanket to ward off the night’s chill and refilled the porcelain cup on the bedside cabinet. The tea was probably lukewarm by now, but Honoroit figured that might be for the best: Given how feeble and light-headed he was, he might very well end up spilling it over himself...

“I will send for the chirurgeon tomorrow,” Master Alphinaud mused as he helped Honoroit to lie back down. “Maybe he can provide you with some potion against the pain.”

Honoroit felt a blush spreading across his cheeks. Perhaps he hadn’t been able to hide his ailment quite as well as he had believed… 

Oblivious to his abashment, Master Alphinaud seized his wrist and placed two fingers against it below the base of Honoroit’s thumb. Honoroit held still, keeping his breathing steady as Master Alphinaud measured the little flutter that reflected the beating of Honoroit’s heart. At last, the elezen nodded.

“A little weak, but even,” he declared. He tucked Honoroit’s arm back under the covers and regarded him warily.

“Will you be able to sleep?”

Honoroit dropped his gaze.

“It’d be easier if Emmanellain was here,” he conceded honestly, “but I’ll manage.”

Master Alphinaud nodded in silent understanding, sparing Honoroit the embarrassment of further questions. He gathered the used dishes onto a tray, deftly balanced it on his hip so he could give Honoroit a last encouraging pat and wished him a good night.

When Master Alphinaud had retreated, Honoroit glanced at the nursery again. His mouth quirked. It was all but ironic... He could count the amount of times Emmanellain had indeed called for him at night on the fingers of one hand. Only when Emmanellain had been sick had he requested Honoroit’s assistance on rare occasions, and even then he had been subdued and conscience-stricken about it. The topic of Honoroit moving back to his old room however had never been brought up again. 


	3. Chapter 3

“ _ Please _ , Master Alphinaud!” Honoroit struggled to his knees and leaned forward, far enough so that he nearly toppled off the bed. “I beg you, my lord, you must let me go! He might need me!”

Master Alphinaud, commonly the epitome of patience, scowled in barely concealed frustration and planted himself in Honoroit’s way.

“You still haven’t recovered fully. I gave Count Edmont my word that I would see to you. I'm fairly certain this includes preventing you from overexerting yourself, especially when you’re still wobbly on your feet,” he opposed.

Dipping his head to hide an unseemly pout, Honoroit sat back on his heels.

“I am not overexerting myself,” he objected mildly. He tried to keep his tone of voice polite, but doubted that he succeeded in his endeavour. Even if he did, it would hardly lessen the insolence of his behaviour. His defiance was outrageous, he knew that, but he couldn’t back off. Not on this. “The chirurgeon said that light activity was acceptable. Your concern for me is most commendable, Master Alphinaud, but I promise you, it is not required.”

He straightened up, forcing himself to withstand Master Alphinaud’s cutting gaze. While he was insubordinate, he was also  _ in the right _ . Master Alphinaud was being overcautious - it had been more than a week since Honoroit had woken from his coma, and he had largely regained his strength since then.

Master Alphinaud arched an eyebrow - just one - and crossed his arms in front of his chest.

  
“Is that so?” he drawled. “Must I remind you of your little…  _ mishap _ yesterday?”

Honoroit winced and ducked his head. There was no good answer he could give to that. After yestermorning’s breakfast, he had requested to be allowed a stroll through the patio. Master Alphinaud and Count Edmont had agreed, but upon rising from his bed, Honoroit’s legs had given away under him and he had stumbled straight into Master Alphinaud’s hastily outstretched arms. To make matters worse, Halone had evidently been under the impression that this utter humiliation hadn’t been mortifying enough: When Honoroit had tumbled against poor Master Alphinaud, his momentum had been so strong that he had pulled both of them to the ground, Honoroit himself landing on top of the honoured house guest.

Yet, despite Master Alphinaud’s undeniably valid argument, Honoroit couldn’t relent on this matter. For the past week, he had compliantly stayed in bed, but this morning he had overheard two maidservants whispering about an upcoming field exercise between Ishgard and the three city states of the Eorzean Alliance. That had been tremendously exciting news, but as Honoroit had curiously listened in on the tattle, a piece of information had been dropped that had made his blood curdle: Emmanellain was to participate in the exercise.  _ Of all people! _

Honoroit bit his lip, squared his shoulders and lifted his chin.

“But Emmanellain is terribly clum… My lord, while certainly highly skilled with sword and shield, lacks experience and practise in those skills,” he pointed out. “He might very well impale himself by mistake, or otherwise injure himself. You cannot demand that I leave him to his fate!”

He cast an imploring look at Master Alphinaud.

“The chirurgeon said that light activity was fine.  _ Please, _ Master Alphinaud…”

Master Alphinaud let out a sigh and sat down on the bed next to Honoroit.

“Listen, Honoroit, I understand that you’re worried and your devotion speaks for you. But it’s just an exercise, he is not on a real battlefield,” he reasoned gently. “Shouldn’t loyalty towards your master also include believing in him?” He squeezed Honoroit’s shoulder. “Have a little faith in him, hm?”

Reluctantly, Honoroit nodded. That was unfortunately true, he owed the Fortemps support in all their decisions. Even if it was something as stupid as Emmanellain swinging around a sword...

“But I haven’t seen him at all these last few days…” he whispered, desperate. “You keep assuring me that he is well, but I have yet to see proof thereof.”

Master Alphinaud drew another sigh, but this time, it was heavy and resigned - a sigh that signaled defeat. Honoroit perked up his ears, a flicker of hope igniting in his chest.

“Very well: If you promise to rest for the remainder of the day, I will come collect you as soon as the military exercise is over and we will go see Emmanellain. Do we have an agreement?”

Honoroit would have much rather wanted to see Emmanellain fight in person, but he refrained from arguing - a bird in the hand was worth two in the bush.

“Yes, my lord, Master Alphinaud! Yes!”

That elicited a chuckle before Master Alphinaud rose and ordered him to lay back down. Honoroit hid his frustration about being patronised and obliged. He felt fine - had been feeling fine since the day before - but he didn’t want to jeopardise Master Alphinaud keeping his promise. Besides, while the way Master Alphinaud clucked and fussed over him was indisputably embarrassing, he had attended to Honoroit with great dedication ever since Honoroit had woken up, and Honoroit was not a spoiled, cranky brat who wouldn’t appreciate that.

The hours dragged by and the only visitor Honoroit received was the tabby cat that had been taken in as a mouser a few weeks ago. He started to wonder if Master Alphinaud had merely tricked him into staying in bed, but just as the sun neared the horizon, Master Alphinaud entered the room. Honoroit bolted upright, holding his breath. A lopsided grin tugged at the corner of Master Alphinaud’s mouth.

“ _ Yes _ , the exercise is over. You may get dressed.”

Honoroit jumped to his feet before Master Alphinaud had even finished the sentence. He briefly cursed himself for his negligence - getting dressed, why hadn’t he thought of that sooner! - and donned his flannel shirt and pantaloons as fast as can be. As he grabbed his coat, he already darted past Master Alphinaud and through the doorway. The young man called after him, but Honoroit decided he had waited long enough - he wanted to see Emmanellain!

He nearly bumped into Baileywick on his way through the parlour and scarcely managed to sidestep and dodge the head servant in the last second. Baileywick glared at him, visibly fuming, but Honoroit merely called out a half-hearted apology before he rushed out the front door. He mustn’t lose time, Emmanellain was waiting!

He leapt down the entrance stairway, spurted across the forecourt and raced down the street… heading towards the… city gates?

Honoroit paused, startled, when an unpleasant sensation of cold swept over his feet. He looked down at himself and found his lower legs bare, his skin nearly as white as the snow around him. Colour rushed into his cheeks. He had earnestly forgotten to put on his boots…

_ “Young man, this is not acceptable!” _

Honoroit flinched and whirled around. Baileywick stalked through the snow, not wearing a coat and clearly shivering from the cold. Before Honoroit could offer his - this time sincere - apologies, Baileywick grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and harshly dragged him back towards the house. Honoroit cringed under the punishing grip and hurried to assure Baileywick that he felt very sorry for his impertinence, but the man simply ignored his pleas to release him. As they approached the house, Honoroit spotted Master Alphinaud hovering in the entrance. The Sharlayan smiled a staid but superior smile and held - and that darkened the colour of Honoroit’s cheeks only further - Honoroit’s boots in his hands. Master Alphinaud refrained from making any remark on Honoroit’s conduct though, unlike Baileywick who was still enthusiastically reprimanding him. Once they entered the manor, Baileywick let go of Honoroit’s coat though and clutched his shoulders.

“Are you all right, boy?” Despite his former scolding, his eyes were wide with concern and his voice held a slight tremble. Honoroit nodded and lowered his head in shame. Baileywick was a good man...

He took the time to apologise properly once more before he collected his boots from Master Alphinaud. Once he had finished putting them on, he rose to his feet and sheepishly wrung his hands in front of him. He barely dared to look up at Master Alphinaud, but postponing the question wouldn’t make things better...

“May I… May I still go to the training ground and see Lord Emmanellain?”

His heart was in his mouth. If Master Alphinaud barred him from seeing Emmanellain… 

Master Alphinaud gave him a lenient nod and it was all Honoroit could do not to fling his arms around him.

Brimming over with anticipation, Honoroit nearly rushed outside anew, but reconsidered in time. Demonstrating that he had learned his lesson, he positioned himself next to the front door and duteously waited for Master Alphinaud. His display of obedience proved to be an unexpectedly fortunate decision when a mere second later, Master Alphinaud informed him that Count Edmont would accompany them.

Honoroit’s jaw went slack.

_ Good heavens! _ If Baileywick wouldn’t have brought him back, or if he had run right outside again, Count Edmont would have been forced to chase after him… That didn’t even bear thinking about! Count Edmont would have been _ furious! _ Or disappointed. Honoroit wasn’t sure which would have been worse.

Oblivious to Honoroit’s qualms, Master Alphinaud went to stand next to him.

“Count Edmont came here right after the exercise ended to fill us in on the news,” he explained, “but he wishes to speak to Ser Aymeric once the dust has settled, so he’ll return to the training ground with us. He wanted to refresh himself briefly before heading out again though.”

He winked conspiratorially at Honoroit and leaned in close so he could whisper into his ear.

“Between the two of us: I suspect he also yearns to see Emmanellain, but that has to remain our little secret, understood?”

Honoroit nodded wordlessly, but managed to flash a shy smile of gratitude at least. The near disaster of incurring Count Edmont’s ire had left him much too agitated to voice a reply, but hearing that the man still held Emmanellain dear took a great load off his mind. It was kind of Master Alphinaud to let him know as much despite the delicacy of the subject. The Fortemps were good people, but more often than not, they were too proud and dignified to admit how much they cared about one another.

He folded his hands behind his back and did his best to look perfectly mannerly and innocent while they waited for the head of the household to join them. To Honoroit, it seemed like an eternity until he eventually climbed down the stairs, and then like another eternity until they set out at last. Even then, the little group moved dreadfully slowly.

Honoroit smothered a sigh and reined himself in so he wouldn’t run on ahead again. Master Alphinaud was quick on his feet, but Count Edmont’s limp left him noticeably hampered. Despite the growing impatience that gnawed at Honoroit, he felt no resentment towards Count Edmont for his lack of speed. As much as he wanted to see Emmanellain again, he knew well how severe Count Edmont’s impediment was. Artoirel and Emmanellain had once mentioned that he had been injured when a piece of debris had crushed his leg during a devastating dragon attack. Honoroit tried not to think about that too much - it was grievous enough seeing Count Edmont grimace in pain when he believed no one was paying attention. The thought of the unspeakable agony he must have endured during the accident itself made Honoroit’s stomach churn.

As they got closer to the aetheryte plaza, their progress was only slowed further. A mass of people moved towards Ishgard’s outskirts and before long hemmed the three of them in on all sides. Honoroit managed to pick up a few snippets of conversation from the excited whispers around them. Apparently, Ishgard had won the field exercise! Honoroit had been too occupied with Emmanellain’s well-being to even spare a thought on that matter yet, but these surely were glad tidings. It was said that the warrior of light had fought under the banner of Ishgard and had gained the final victory in an epic duel against general Raubahn. Honoroit felt a twinge of disappointment about having missed that, but as of now, his primary focus was finally finding Emmanellain.

The training area was teeming with people - spectators and combatants returning home - that blended into an ever-shifting mosaic of varicoloured splotches. Honoroit’s gaze flew over the crowd. There was no sight of Emmanellain anywhere… Where  _ was _ he? Had something happened to him? What if he…

Slender fingers wrapped around his shoulder and Honoroit looked, questioning, up at Master Alphinaud. The young man pointed to the southeast and Honoroit’s eyes nervously followed the path of his outstretched finger. Among the magnificent, glorious combatants there was one who didn’t look magnificent or glorious at all. Instead, he looked foreworn, if not to say absolutely miserable. Honoroit’s heart skipped a beat.

“My lord!” He dashed forward, tripping over his own feet.  _ “My lord!” _

Emmanellain, doubled over and panting heavily, froze. In a motion that was almost comically slow, he straightened up and turned in Honoroit’s direction. A kaleidoscope of emotions reflected in the depth of his blue eyes: Guilt, worry, grief - and indescribable relief.

For a second, the man stood stockstill. Then he raced over with such impetuousness that lumps of snow flew up from under his boots. He jerked to a halt just ilms away from Honoroit, the grin that was plastered onto his face wide enough for it to look utterly ridiculous. Somehow, Honoroit couldn’t bring himself to tease Emmanellain about it though. Something warm spread in his chest.

“Honoroit?! What are you doing out here?” Emmanellain barked at him, his worry abruptly turning into anger. “Shouldn’t you still be in bed?”

Honoroit deliberately avoided looking at Master Alphinaud at that, afraid whether the young man would tell Emmanellain about Honoroit’s earlier rashness. But no, Master Alphinaud kept silent.

Thanking the Twelve - and Master Alphinaud - inwardly, Honoroit put on what he hoped was a reassuring smile.

“Pray do not worry about me, my lord, I am much better already. It appears that a few scars will remain, but I was told I needn’t hide those as some ladies may find them rather... appealing.”

A ‘secret’ entrusted to him by Master Thancred, although Honoroit still couldn’t discern whether the man - dashing and popular with the ladies as far as Honoroit could tell - had been serious or whether he had merely seeked to play a joke on Honoroit.

“Needn’t hide those, you say?” Emmanellain huffed a startled laugh. He shook his head, his expression contorted with pain. “Just you wait, I will tan  _ your _ hide! Causing me so much worry!”

He drew nearer and lifted his fist above his head. Honoroit instinctively flinched back.

“L-Lord Emmanellain?”

His mind was whirling. This couldn’t be happening. Lord Emmanellain had  _ never _ raised his hand against him! For all his failures and shortcomings, one of the things Honoroit had always respected Emmanellain for most had been his fair treatment of the domestic workers.

Honoroit squeezed his eyes shut, but instead of striking him, the fist opened into a hand and came to rest in his neck.

_ “How dare you scare me like that?” _

Honoroit tentatively glanced up. Emmanellain’s voice was thick and his eyes shimmered in the rapidly dimming twilight. Honoroit had a sudden lump in his throat. Emmanellain…

He swallowed hard, not trusting himself to speak. Fortunately, Emmanellain saved him by well and truly ruining the moment.

“Did you see me fight? It was awesome -  _ I _ was awesome!” he blurted out, punching the air around him in a thrill of ecstasy. Honoroit blinked, too taken aback to reply, before he managed to regain his composure.

“I am afraid I have missed your unparalleled display of fighting skills, my lord,” he declared with forced dignity. “A circumstance I certainly pity - it must have been a rather...  _ unique  _ spectacle to behold.”

Emmanellain looked ready to agree before he grew aware of the backhanded nature of Honoroit’s compliment. A frown creased his forehead and he set about berating Honoroit, but then his indignation melted and he broke into a grin.

“I am glad to discover you haven’t lost your wit,” he noted, his tone soft with contentment. Honoroit nodded, maintaining a straight face.

“Well, one of us has to keep his wits about one, my lord,” he agreed earnestly. Emmanellain narrowed his eyes on him in mock threat before he reached out and ruffled Honoroit’s hair in the most patronising manner possible.

“Ah, my boy…” He tugged Honoroit against his side and caught him in a brief headlock, a satisfied smirk settling on his lips when Honoroit’s frantic attempts to free himself came up empty. “You truly are a remarkable young lad. Too bad you barely reach up to my chest, eh?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I based the dialogue on the German localisation of the game, which seems to differ greatly from the English one in some parts. (For example, in the English version, Count Fortemps mentions that chocobo messengers brought the news about Ishgard’s victory. In the German version, Alphinaud said that Count Fortemps has told him what happened and what a spectacular fight this must have been, thereby implying that Count Fortemps had watched the field exercise in person.)
> 
> By the way, Honoroit forgetting his boots isn’t something I made up but is mentioned in-game, at least in the German version. I think it occurred sometime later than when this story is set, but I took the liberty of including it here since it perfectly portrays Honoroit and his relationship with Emmanellain.


	4. Chapter 4

“Are you certain you don’t need to lie down?” Emmanellain had the audacity to help Honoroit out of his coat, going as far as to take the piece of clothing off his hands in order to hang it for him. Honoroit bit back the tart remark lying on the tip of his tongue and let Emmanellain proceed. He knew the man meant well, but since they had said their goodbyes to Count Edmont and Master Alphinaud down in the parlour a few minutes earlier, Emmanellain was fussing over him even more than he had all evening - which had already been plenty.

“Yes, I am certain, my lord,” Honoroit affirmed, a spark of hope that his avowal would dispel Emmanellain’s concerns flickering within his chest. “I will not deny that a moment of rest would be most welcome, but sitting down will be perfectly sufficient.”

Emmanellain, abruptly flinging Honoroit’s coat onto the nearest chair, swirled back around. His formerly concerned mien had given way to a suspicious scowl.

“Most welcome?” he gasped. “Do you mean to tell me you needed a moment of rest all along? Then why in the world didn’t you say so?!”

Honoroit made a show of arching his eyebrows.

“Pray forgive me, my lord. I judged the streets of Ishgard to be a rather unsuitable location for granting myself the comfort of a nap.”

He quirked a smile, but Emmanellain didn’t think him nearly as funny as he did.

“That’s no laughing matter, Honoroit!” Emmanellain tripped over the words, his voice shaky on the verge of yelling. His hands lashed out and aimlessly slashed the air in front of him. “You were severely injured, you mustn't strain yourself!”

It seemed as if he meant to say more, but he cut himself off and bolted to the other side of the room. He came to a halt in front of the painting of Flavien de Fortemps, studying the portrait of House Fortemps’ founding father with what appeared to be great interest, but Honoroit had a notion that he did not actually see it. Emmanellain’s hands were clasped tightly behind his back, yet a faint tremor ran through them. Honoroit lowered his head and meekly sat down on the divan at the opposite wall. He still didn’t agree with Emmanellain’s fretting, but he knew when he had overstepped his boundaries.

“I am sorry, my lord,” he yielded softly. “Pray forgive my temerity.”

Emmanellain’s rebuke hadn’t been entirely uncalled-for. Although Honoroit had concealed it as best as he could, he did feel thoroughly exhausted. Surely the reason that he hadn't wanted to reveal this piece of information was that he hadn’t wanted to impose on anyone.  _ Surely  _ it had nothing to do with him not wanting to concede that Master Alphinaud had been right and that Honoroit  _ had  _ overexerted himself.

Emmanellain acknowledged his apology with a small nod, but otherwise didn’t stir. A wave of nausea crept over Honoroit and settled in the pit of his stomach. Growing increasingly restless, he slipped onto the edge of the settee.

“Lord Emmanellain…” He broke off, fighting back the acrid taste that rose in his throat. “You... you seem... ill at ease?”

Emmanellain stiffened, but still refused to look at Honoroit. His breathing came in fits and starts and sounded unnaturally loud in the otherwise quiet room.

“Honoroit, I…” The man dropped his hands to his sides where they balled into helpless fists. “Honoroit, I am sorry about not coming to see you. I swear by the Fury it wasn’t because I wouldn’t care.”

Honoroit drew back. What?

“Lord Emmanellain, I am afraid I cannot follow?”

Emmanellain took a shuddering breath and finally turned to face Honoroit. Honoroit sincerely wished he hadn’t. Emmanellain’s expression was… haunted. His usually bright eyes had dulled, their red rims an echo of colour against the bleak pallor of his skin. Remorse twisted his features into something alien and disturbing, revealing a pain so raw that Honoroit shied away.

“Alphinaud hunted me down two nights ago and took me to task about not visiting you,” Emmanellain spluttered. “I didn’t think about how my apparent lack of interest would hurt you. I am so sorry! It wasn’t because I didn’t care about you or your wellbeing, pray believe me!”

Honoroit gawked up at him in stunned stupor.  _ Hurt _ him?

“But my lord!” He started forward, pausing as he struggled for words, dumbfounded by the sheer preposterousness of the suggestion. “I know that! You avoided the manor to keep out of your father’s way, I understand! I am not sure where Master Alphinaud got the impression that this would wound me. I will not deny that seeing you again fills me with immeasurable relief, but pray know that I don’t hold your absence over these last few days against you!”

Emmanellain stared at him, mouth agape. When he finally closed it, a pained smile warped his lips.

“That you know, I see…”

He shuffled over and slouched down on the divan next to Honoroit. Hesitantly, Honoroit lowered himself back down as well. Emmanellain’s shoulders had sagged and he absentmindedly ran his thumbs across his hands in a meaningless pattern of loops and circles. Several moments passed before he spoke again.

“Honoroit… I didn’t stay away because of Father. Well, to a certain degree, yes, but not only because of him.” He stilled his hands and his head drooped, all of his spirit seeming to drain out of him within mere seconds. When he continued, his voice was empty, bereft of any emotion. “I wasn’t only avoiding Father. I was avoiding you.”

A surge of cold engulfed Honoroit, covering every ilm of his skin with icy prickles of fear.

_ “Me?”  _ His voice was barely a whisper. For a heartbeat, he was unable to form a clear thought. Then the shock and despair and terror came crashing down at him all at once. Tears gathered on his lashes and he lurched forward, clutching Emmanellain’s arm. “Emmanellain, have... have I upset you? I am infinitely sorry for causing a commotion at the peace conference, my lord! I didn’t mean to…”

He didn’t get any further. Emmanellain broke away from him and jumped to his feet, a strangled yelp escaping his lips.

“What? No! No! By the Twelve, no!” He clasped his forehead and sank back onto the cushions. “Heavens above, child, how can you p _ ossibly _ believe that I would be upset with you?”

Benumbed, Honoroit withdrew his hand that was still awkwardly hovering in mid-air. Emmanellain resumed his former position, once again falling silent, but slumped even further than he had earlier. His thick leather gloves clawed into his hair, raking his scalp in a manner that  _ had _ to be painful. Honoroit sat frozen. He felt completely out of his depth. A part of him was distantly aware that Emmanellain needed someone to console him, but the prospect of having lost Emmanellain’s favour paralysed him and rendered it impossible to think. Moreover, he had never seen Emmanellain in such a state of mind before. Emmanellain wore his heart on his sleeve for better or worse - he might often wail and whine, over the silliest things at times. He might lose his temper and rant and rave. He might even become genuinely sad on rare occasions. But Emmanellain was never well and truly  _ distraught _ …

Insecure, Honoroit reached out and patted the man’s shoulder.

“I… It’s… Everything will be well?” he offered. It came out as but a question and did nothing to reassure Emmanellain. Feeling inapt and wholly useless, Honoroit dropped his hand into his lap. He couldn’t find any reasonable explanation for Emmanellain’s upheaval, let alone a remedy. As it was, he failed to even conclude whether he was the one responsible for Emmanellain’s perturbation. Given Emmanellain’s odd reaction to his apology, that seemed unlikely, but why else would Emmanellain evade him if not for Honoroit having displeased him?

Honoroit thinned his lips, digging his fingers into the divan’s lustrous satin coating.

“Why… If I may ask, my lord, why  _ did  _ you stay away?”

He nearly choked on the question, but the uncertainty of _ not _ knowing was unbearable. Rather than responding though, Emmanellain raised his gaze and regarded Honoroit with quiet dolour. His hair was mussed up and looked even messier than usual, and Honoroit noticed a fresh shimmer in his eyes.

“I failed you, Honoroit,” Emmanellain confessed at least. “I was too immature, too dependent on others to make a decision on my own, and you ended up paying the price. I nearly got you killed...”

He burrowed his face into his hands, his body wracking with waves of violent sobs.

_ “You nearly died because of me!” _

Honoroit leapt up, an overwhelming sense of anger flaring up inside him.  _ That _ was what all this was about?!

“Are you being serious? That’s arrant nonsense!” he yelled. His body trembled with agitation and it occurred to him only after several seconds that his behaviour was egregiously disrespectful. With a shivering breath, he sat back down and closed his eyes to regain his composure.

Emmanellain remained unfazed by his outburst.

“You were barely conscious when we found you,” he reminded him, his voice so hard and bitter that Honoroit couldn’t help but cringe. “These brutes beat you into a bloody pulp, and it was only by grace of the gods that you made it through without any lasting damage. And if the worst would have happened, it would have been solely my fault, don’t you tell me otherwise.”

Honoroit wanted to contradict this, but Emmanellain sounded so uncommonly serious that he felt obliged to regard the man’s words in earnest for once. In the end, he shook his head nevertheless.

“Even if that was true,” he opposed, “I still wouldn’t mind.”

Emmanellain set about objecting, but Honoroit locked eyes with him, determined to make the lordling listen.

“You are the one who gave me this life in the first place. If you were the reason for it to end, so be it.”

Emmanellain knitted his brows, staring at him in confusion until a grave, alarming epiphany seemed to dawn on him.

“Ga- gave you this life?” he stuttered. “Honoroit, my boy, I don’t know where you got _ that _ idea from, but I… I know I am very popular with the ladies, but I would never… I have never…”

Honoroit swatted his arm.

“Not _ that _ ,” he hissed. “What I mean is…”

He let out a small sigh and drew up his legs, sitting sideways on his shanks so he could face Emmanellain without having to twist his still aching neck.

“This must be impossible for you to understand, my lord, but what I had before you took me in… was not a life.”

Emmanellain snorted, but to Honoroit’s surprise he nodded in solemn agreement.

“It certainly feels like it didn’t deserve to be called that, hm? Gods know that that man didn’t treat you well,” he noted. “I know that you’re thankful for having a roof over your head and food on the table now, but…”

“No!” 

Honoroit’s head shook wildly from side to side, his veto vehement enough for it to reduce Emmanellain to silence. Growing aware of Emmanellain’s perplexity, Honoroit bit his lip in order to curb his emotions. Still, he failed to prevent a hollow laugh from escaping his lungs.

“That’s not what I meant. Emmanellain, before I met you... “ He turned his eyes skyward, swallowing. “How can I explain this to someone like you... To someone who grew up in the bosom of their family, sheltered from the cruelties of this world, from the cold and darkness that fills so many people’s hearts.”

He paused, plucking a few loose fringes off the pillow next to him.

“Emmanellain, before I met you, I wasn’t… Well, I was alive, technically speaking, but I was not… a person. Boys like me, children sold to a stranger for indenture, they aren’t considered full-fledged people. They’re a uniform mass, molded into a function rather than being regarded as individuals. And I don’t mean that we were treated badly - in fact, the boys working for Master Reynauld and I, we had it far better than many other children in our position.”

He broke off when Emmanellain brushed his statement aside with a rigorous gesture.

“Don’t lie to me!” the man snarled. “I was there when you gobbled down your first bowl of stew in this house. You all but cried with gratitude because you had a warm meal! And don’t think I wouldn’t have noticed how you flinched for the first couple of months whenever I made an abrupt gesture.”

Honoroit blushed, though he could not claim that he felt particularly embarrassed.

“Ah, I didn’t know it had been that obvious. Still, pray do not worry, Emmanellain. I meant what I said - I didn’t fare as bad as you seem to fear. It is true, Master Reynauld would strike us when he was displeased with our work or sometimes simply because he was in a foul mood, but I’ve seen other children... Children whose legs and backs were covered in welts inflicted by their master’s cane. I genuinely thank the Gods to this day they spared me this cruel fate. And while Master Reynauld rarely gave us warm meals, he at least always kept us fed. Granted, he only did it because he believed we would do poor workmanship if we were just skin and bones, but that doesn’t change the fact that we  _ had  _ food. I met a boy once whose master gave him nothing but an onion and a stale piece of bread every day...”

The memories evoked tears and he hastily wiped the back of his hand over his eyes.

“But what I am trying to tell you has nothing to do with whether we were abused or not. It’s…” He sucked in a sharp breath, frustrated at his own incapacity to couch his concern in fitting terms. “My lord, despite us not enduring as direful hardships as others may have been forced to endure, in the end, we were naught but a bunch of working boys. We didn’t have… the luxury of an identity. We lacked the means to develop any form of personality - we weren’t  _ someone _ , just  _ something _ . There was nothing distinguishing us from one another, nothing making us  _ us _ . It didn’t matter if you took me or any of the other boys, we all spent our days with work, trying not to incur the wrath of our master and praying that our tasks wouldn’t be too arduous. We didn’t have favourite things, or hobbies, or ambitions, or dreams. In our station, there was no room for such fancies.”

He threw a crooked smile up at Emmanellain.

“But with you… that all changed. You taught me that there is more to this world than work and sleep. You showed me that there is joy to find in this world! You introduced me to sweets, and music, and card games… You told me stories of faraway lands, of brave heroes and thrilling adventures, piquing my curiosity about this stunning wide world out there. And when you saw the interest you had sparked in me, you let me tag along whenever your duties lead you elsewhere. I had never set foot outside Ishgard before I met you - the first time you took me with you to Camp Dragonhead was but a dream come true! And when we visited Camp Cloudtop I even came to have my very own adventure, if unintentionally so.”

He huffed a laugh, still scarcely able to grasp how lucky he had been.

“Do you have any idea what you’ve done for me, Emmanellain? You allowed me to become a  _ person _ , to have options and make choices. Thanks to you, I have discovered -  _ could _ discover - that I love pudding and grilled meat and buttered toast, but hate those clams filled with sparkling wine that you fancy so much. Thanks to you, I have favourite books and favourite authors while I find the ‘literary outpourings’ of other authors entirely ludicrous. Thanks to you, I’ve learned that I don’t care much about operas, but I greatly enjoy the plays in the theatre, the comedies especially.”

He gulped, realising that his own cheeks had become wet.

“You enabled me to become a someone, Emmanellain.”

He reached out, timidly placing his hand above Emmanellain’s. It was an improper gesture, much too familiar than was appropriate for a lowly servant, but he needed the contact.

“Emmanellain… I know that you would have blamed yourself had I died that night, and I do understand that. But regardless of the fact that it  _ wouldn’t _ have been your fault: Please, if something ever happens to me, even if it should indeed be you who bears the blame, please do not torment yourself over it. Without you, I wouldn’t have had a life at all. So no matter when or how I die, know that every day since you granted me your care and mentorship was a day of a life  _ you _ gave me. And I am indescribably grateful for that. Pray promise me that you will always remember that.”

Instead of replying, Emmanellain gathered him into a tight embrace. He hadn’t had time to clean himself up yet after the exercise and reeked of sweat, and his tears felt unpleasantly hot as they trickled down Honoroit’s neck. They remained like this for minutes, Emmanellain crying and Honoroit trying his best not to cry. Oh, why did  _ he _ always have to be the adult one?

Yet when Emmanellain finally shoved him off again, the man was unexpectedly calm, at peace almost.

“Oh, Honoroit, you fool.” He shook his head but even in doing so he didn't take his eyes off Honoroit. “I’m not presuming to understand what you’ve been through, but I think there are a few things you got wrong.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose and inhaled deeply.

“First off, I may understand better than you suspect. Honoroit, I don’t want to claim I had it as rough as you did, I wouldn’t dream of it. But while I had more freedoms than you, I never had the freedom to be who I wished to be.” He scoffed. “If you think about it, it’s just lovely, isn’t it - as the second-born, I leave empty-handed. Any benefits that come with my father’s title will devolve solely to my brother. Yet, I am expected to abide by all the rules and customs befitting a count’s son.”

He gave Honoroit a wry smile.

“But I don’t want to complain. I am well aware of my privileges. I never had to worry about my next meal nor fear that I might perish by cold when I lay myself down to rest at night. The second, infinitely more important matter is that you were not as bland and insignificant as you seem to believe.”

Honoroit’s forehead creased in disagreement.

“My lord, I…”

Emmanellain held up his hands in means of appeasing him.

“I know, I know, you had no options, no choices or likes and dislikes. I heard you. But there was a reason why, of all the children suffering in this city, I took in  _ you _ .”

Honoroit stared at him, bewildered. He had never given much thought to the reasons for which Emmanellain had taken him in - the truth was, he had always believed he simply happened to be the first destitute child Emmanellain had ever stumbled upon. Emmanellain led a sheltered, care-free life. Honoroit had believed that seeing a bedraggled, hapless child had shattered Emmanellain’s world view and that Emmanellain had wanted to restore the image he had of himself and his peers by becoming Honoroit’s benefactor.

Of all the manners possible in which Emmanellain could have reacted to Honoroit’s bemusement, the manner Emmanellain chose was to outright laugh at him.

“Don’t give me such an incredulous look!” Emmanellain snorted. “Did you believe I concerned myself with you because you were the only person in need I ever met? Honoroit, I may be the spoiled son of one of Ishgard’s most renowned families, but I do see the people that are out there on the streets. I see their haggard faces, their resentment, their blind hatred for everyone off better than them. They have lost all hope, all trust in this world, and even if something good comes along their way, they are too caught up in their misery to see it. But you, despite all the misfortune you suffered, despite the maltreatment you had to deal with day to day, you strove for a better future. You hadn’t lost your zest for life, you had the will to  _ try _ and find a shimmer of light in that godforsaken city. You were willing to accept something good coming your way and embrace it. That’s why I longed to help you, of all people, to get out of the gutter.”

He rested his hand upon Honoroit’s head, his gaze sad and fond in equal measure.

“Do you think the day we met was the first time I went to the Jeweled Crozier? Do you have any idea how many poor sods, children and adults alike, always loitered in the shadows during my tours there? Yet you were the only one who actively tried to do something about his situation and came to ask whether he could carry my purchases. There were other errand-boys who were ordered by their masters to do the same, but neither of them offered me their services on their own account. And neither of them exchanged more than a few words with me, let alone considered the idea of me being someone able to help them. You know I gave you more than the amount of coins we had agreed upon. Fact is, I gave all of the boys helping me before a quite generous amount, Honoroit, but do you think the majority of them would have even thanked me for it?”

“If I remember correctly, I didn’t thank you, either,” Honoroit pointed out carefully. Emmanellain hollered with laughter and Honoroit couldn’t help but feel a jab of annoyance.

“Yes, because you couldn’t count!” Emmanellain called out, chortling. “You thought I had given you the promised amount of coins. But when I explained to you that I was giving you additional coins because you had done such a good job, you practically beamed with joy and immediately offered me to carry my things for me next time as well. No one ever had done that before. And no one had chatted with me on the way home like you had, either. You had been awfully shy about it, I must say - definitely nothing like the cheeky little brat you are now! But you hadn’t abandoned yourself to your fate like everyone else had. That’s why I offered you to teach you letters and numbers - because I believed that unlike everyone else, you would actually make something of this chance.”

He ruffled Honoroit’s hair.

“I guess to you I must have seemed like a knight in shining armor,” he mused, “but the truth is: To me, you were a glimmer of hope just as much as I was to you. You let me believe that a better future was possible.”

He huffed, somehow chuckling and crying at the same time.

“I’m sorry,” he hiccoughed. “That must all sound very melodramatic and silly, doesn’t it? I’m sorry, I’m just no good with words. I suppose I should say something more meaningful, but my mind is blank, and my throat’s all itchy and dry, and…”

Honoroit gave his shoulder a light tap to put an end to his babbling.

“Don’t stress yourself, Emmanellain”, he told him. “You don’t have to say anything. I… understand.”

Emmanellain fell silent, eyeing him with a radiating smile.

“I guess I should thank you for your kindness,” he observed. “I will try to remember your words and not forsaken myself if you ever… if… if the worst was ever to happen. Still, I’d prefer if that day was still a long way off.”

He made a lousy attempt to wink at Honoroit.

“So please do me a favour and try your best to prevent anything from happening to you anytime soon, will you?” he joked weakly. He tried for it to sound funny, but he hopelessly failed. Honoroit decided he’d play along nonetheless - Emmanellain still looked so shaken.

“I have no intention of being reckless,” he assured him gravely. “That would be terribly inconsiderate towards you, wouldn’t it? After all, that would mean I would waste the life you gave me. I certainly can not disregard a gift from you in such a manner.”

That brought a slightly more genuine laugh about, much to Honoroit’s joy.

“Then maybe we should get you into bed at last so you can rest,” Emmanellain suggested. He seized Honoroit’s chin and mustered him sceptically. “You look weary.”

Honoroit tried to nod - which was rather difficult with Emmanellain still holding his chin. Maybe Emmanellain was indeed right - his eyes were burning and his shoulder had been aching ever since Emmanellain had assaulted him in jest earlier at the training area. Not that he would ever let Emmanellain know as much - rather should he bite his tongue off than to cause Emmanellain to feel guilty.

He let Emmanellain steer him into his room. Emmanellain’s gaze briefly lingered on his bed as they passed by, but Honoroit determinedly continued on to his own room. He had no doubts that Emmanellain would have left his bed to him had he asked, but he wanted things to return to normalcy at last.

He didn’t argue when Emmanellain helped him change and settle in, albeit he did draw the line when Emmanellain was about to pull up the bed covers for him. He may be sore and stiff, but he didn’t need to be tugged in!

Emmanellain grinned smugly at Honoroit’s grumbles of protest.

“My, are we afraid to be regarded as a baby?” he teased. “Did that fight turn us from a boy into a man?”

Honoroit shoved him aside, a decision he instantly regretted when the pain in his shoulder flared up with vicious ferocity. 

“As always, your humor is most delightful,” he shot back through gritted teeth. Luckily, Emmanellain was far less observant than Master Alphinaud and didn’t catch up on his suffering.

“My pleasure!” he retorted cheerfully. “After all, as we detected, I am here shower this world with joy and happiness.”

Honoroit couldn’t bring himself to be cross with him for that sass even if he had wanted to.

“Speaking of joy, my lord,” he interjected gently, “I asked your father about the truffle cream cake as you proposed. Your surmise was correct - he agreed to purchase one and has already placed a respective order. The cake should arrive by the end of the week.”

Emmanellain’s reaction was everything Honoroit had hoped for: The man’s mouth stood open for a moment and then he began dancing about the room, virtually brimming with excitement.

“Oh, Honoroit, this will be most wonderful!” he cried out. “We must take measures to guarantee that Father and Artoirel will join us - they  _ need  _ to try a piece as well! And we could garnish the cake with some honeydew almonds, that should complement its taste well. Or maybe rolanberries instead? Their unpredictable flavour would create a multitude of savoury experiences, what do you think?”

He went on bubbling about the cake, pacing back and forth as he rambled about the preferable beverage to serve with the pastry (cream tea or espresso con panna, apparently a very important and difficult decision), and whether to keep it cooled or let it adjust to room temperature, and whether there would be enough cake to share with the Scions of the Seventh Dawn as well. Honoroit settled in and let himself enjoy the sight of Emmanellain being happy again. Finally...

His gaze travelled over to Emmanellain’s room, memories catching up with him.

“Lord Emmanellain… If I may ask: Back then when you took me in, why didn’t you tell your father the truth about why you wanted me to switch rooms?”

His question brought Emmanellain out of his reverie and left him stumped. His shoulders rising in an evasive shrug, Emmanellain strolled back over and sat down on the edge of Honoroit’s bed.

“Father… He is a great man, but he isn’t very fond of spoiling anyone,” he declared. “I wasn’t sure whether he would agree with my request or would insist that in the long term, you would gain more by learning to face your fears. And if I had asked him first and then claimed that I wanted you closer for other reasons, he would have seen right through it. He may be old, but he’s not yet in his dotage. Hence I deemed it safer to opt for the second method right away.”

Honoroit lowered his head in guilt.

“But he thought poorly of you because of that…”

“Don’t worry about it. I’ve done things far worse that got Father in a lather and had nothing to do with you.”

He tried to look stern.

“And now stop arguing with me. You need to rest.”

Emmanellain trying to act strict was a rather hilarious sight to behold, but Honoroit nodded agreeably and made himself comfortable. The bed squeaked faintly as Emmanellain rose from the mattress.

“Emmanellain…” Honoroit’s voice had been low, but Emmanellain immediately was back by his side. Honoroit grimaced sheepishly, the tips of his ears turning a soft pink. It was such a stupid thing to ask, so pathetic and childish, yet he couldn’t keep himself from asking.

“Could you… Could you leave your door ajar tonight? Just a little...”

Emmanellain’s gaze mellowed. His eyes were still watery, but they shone with warmth and mirrored the tender smile that tugged at the corner of his mouth.

“Of course, my boy. Any time.”


End file.
